You are so effing beautiful. You in your corduroy pants and cotton T-shirt. You look all casual, which is exactly what makes you so irresistible. I could look at you for hours. Devour you with my eyes. You used to say that people thought you were wise because you hardly ever spoke, but really you were just shy. I really believe you never knew the power you had inside you.
But I don’t need this picture to help me remember. The glow of your face, the feel of your soft body is permanently etched into my memory forever. I wonder where you are right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with. Especially who you’re with.
Sometimes I cast a spell as I sing to you my music. I try to connect you to me so that wherever you are, you’ll hear me. That way we’ll always be together. I turn off all the lights, burn a few candles, crank up the stereo, and dance around my living room naked. Then I drink a few beers to numb reality and eventually pass out.
I dream about you not just in my sleep, but sometimes during the day. Like, I’ll be at work and someone will be saying something to me and I’ll be nodding sure, but really I’m off somewhere else with you. In my dream it’s always the same. You and I are together, just like old times, but better because we get along and because all you want to do is ball my brains out. But it’s not the screwing that I repeat over and over again in my head. It’s the part just before we kiss. You look at me with those pleading eyes, then they lightly close just before you tendering lean in.
Remember our first kiss? We were spooning on the couch, watching a late night sci-fi flick, when you rolled over and our mouths found one another. We made out so fiercely that the next day you woke up with brush burn on your chin. Afterwards you declared, “Well I guess this means we’re dating,” like it was the most natural thing in the world. That’s the way it was with you. Loving you was like breathing. Only now I’m hyperventilating.
Say what you will, but I knew you. No one will ever know you like I know you. And no one will ever love you more. Not ever.
I remember the night I asked you to marry me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said. We’d end up like your parents, bickering all the time, and you didn’t want to live like that. You said we both deserved better. What I think you meant to say was that I wasn’t good enough. Well, %@